


True North

by Shinybug



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-25
Updated: 2011-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:22:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinybug/pseuds/Shinybug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stars burn the brightest, Arthur knows, just before they burn out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True North

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful beta Alexia.

*~*~*~*

Arthur wakes in the small hours of the morning, when even the night birds and insects have grown quiet. Merlin is curled away from him on his side, and Arthur is wrapped around his back, his hand resting on Merlin's hip, the other hand beneath his own head. He watches Merlin breathe for a long time, following the shifting rise and fall of his ribs beneath his arm, the way his slightest exhales stir the long dark hair over his brow.

The fire has quieted to embers now but the air is warm with late summer. There are stars outside the window, constellations like maps. Arthur slides his hand down Merlin's hip, down the slim line of his flank, his touch heavy enough to not tickle. Merlin doesn't wake.

Arthur slips his hand sure as a thief between Merlin's cheeks, finding him still warm and wet from earlier in the night, the little hole still as relaxed and unguarded as Merlin himself in sleep. Arthur strokes the soft skin, slipping in moisture, exploring the gentle pucker like a kiss. It's as easy as breathing to slide his finger inside Merlin's body again, the way prepared for him with spit and oil and his own come, and as he strokes softly, in and out, water lapping at a shoreline.

Merlin moves by degrees like the stars shifting down the horizon, asleep but aware. He lets out Arthur's name on a breath without sound, and Arthur's cock rises slowly, his blood like a needle on a compass feeling out true north. Arthur kisses the nape of Merlin's neck, then down between his shoulder blades that stand out like wings beneath his skin. In and out, in and out. Tiny muscles flutter, contract and relax. Total trust.

It's easy enough for Arthur to mold himself to the curve of Merlin's spine, to slip out fingers and slip in cock without missing the rhythm. He holds his breath as long as he can, counting the pulses in his temples and watching the bursts behind his closed eyes as he moves so, so gently. He lets out his breath against Merlin's nape, a long, warm stream of air that draws Merlin into wakefulness, arching by millimeters, moaning so quietly that Arthur only feels the vibration where his skin is touching Merlin's.

Arthur wraps his arm around Merlin's waist, drawing him tighter in against him, as though they could get any closer than they already are. He watches Merlin's fingers flexing for purchase on the fine linen sheets, watches the white spread in his knuckles reflecting starlight from the window.

It's so quiet Arthur thinks he could hear the turning of the earth, could feel the sun rising far below the horizon, if he could only focus hard enough. But Merlin is like water around him, like sleep and solace and the slow burn of life in his veins, love and everything after, and Arthur can only bend his knee to that sovereignty. He covers Merlin's cock with his palm, just holding, pressing his mouth beneath Merlin's ear and breathing, and Merlin comes in his hand in slow waves. Arthur feels the ripples through every part of his body, and lets himself be taken along to ride the swells into stillness.

Sweat has dewed Merlin's skin to silver against Arthur's tongue. As much as he craves everything that comes before, Arthur lives for these moments after, when he can see the life beneath his own skin and Merlin's burning so brightly that he almost can believe what Merlin says about destiny, about the greatness they're meant to find together. Arthur knows too that what he feels for Merlin, this absolute trust that goes both ways, could also be the key to his own fragility. He worries that with his last breath on some distant battlefield he'll be able to trace everything like stars on a chart back to the beginning, long before this moment, to the first time he locked eyes with Merlin. Arthur is afraid that the day he began to live was the day he began to die, too.

Stars burn the brightest, Arthur knows, just before they burn out.

He closes his eyes and holds Merlin close, and Merlin lifts one languid hand to touch Arthur's shoulder, to let him know he's there with him, right there too.

*~*~*~*  
end


End file.
